


Kill Your Boyfriend

by soyforramen



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: Alice always did have scheming down to an art.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bewareoftrips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts).



“A little girl wants revenge; a real woman moves on while karma does her dirty work for her,” Alice said primly as she set another bowl into the cabinet.

“Did you read that in Reader’s Digest?” Gladys asked sourly and shifted the steak on her face. A scowl be more apt, but it would only pull at the skin around her eye, and she’d had more than enough pain for the night. 

She lowered it only for Alice to swoop in and press it further against Gladys face. This time Gladys did scowl, damn the pain. With a smug smile, Alice returned to emptying her dishwasher (oh how far she’d come from hand washing dishes in the back of the Wyrm; and yet Gladys hadn’t moved an inch). If it wasn’t for their shared history - intimate and professional - Gladys would have sucker punched Alice and taken the good silver on her way out. 

“Platitudes are all well and good, but I’d say now’s the time for a reminder as to why men shouldn’t hit women.”

“It’s also a good time for you to think for once,” Alice snapped. The china dishes let out a scream as she slammed another plate onto the stack. She reached for a large butcher’s knife and shoved it into the block. (Eighty, ninety bucks easy for a slab of wood, Gladys thought. Bougie wood for the bougie, upscale lifestyle Alice had been scheming her way into since kindergarten.)

“If you go after him now -“

Gladys leaned back as the steak knife in Alice’s hand came too close to her face. She reached out and pushed Alice’s wrist down towards the kitchen island least this problem be solved by an inadvertent stabbing.

“-you're the only suspect,” Alice continued. “Keller will have you in handcuffs and behind bars -“

She held up a hand to keep Gladys quiet. Instead of saying every dirty little thing she was thinking - about Keller, handcuffs, and Gladys’ past indiscretions with the blonde woman - she let her smirk say it all.

“-and who would look after your son? His father in the ground, you in the pen. He’d be in foster care in a day.”

Gladys mused on this, wondering if it was too late in life to start writing country songs. She sucked on her teeth and winced. One of the back ones was lose, probably courtesy of when she’d been thrown against the bathroom sink. God damn FP and his alcoholic fits. It was one thing for a man to hold his liquor; it was another for him to pour it out onto his wife.

The Cooper kettle screamed (robin’s egg blue, polished and shiny as if it had never been used; 45 easy from Box and Keg, with coupon). Alice turned her attention towards it and began making the suburban equivalent of a shot of good whiskey. Gladys would have killed for a shot of anything right now, but PTA, Home & Garden Alice frowned on fun like mixing valium and alcohol. Serpent Alice would already have three prozac and a tequila sunrise ready for her. 

“So what would you suggest, since stabbing him through the heart is off the table,” Gladys said. She turned the steak over and sighed at how cool the other side was.

Alice pursed her lips while she loaded the dishwasher full of pots and pans from the earlier family dinner. The one Gladys had crashed by knocking on the backdoor, blood streaming from her face, her eyes red and clothes torn, a sleeping child cradled in her arms. Before the in-laws could see, Alice had whisked her upstairs for a change of clothes and first aid. Gladys didn’t know what had been said, but it wasn’t more than a few minutes before Jughead had been laid down in the crib next to Betty, and she’d been taken downstairs and seated at the island, a hearty slice of apple pie a la mode set in front of her. 

“Stay here a few days. Let it be known you’re out of the house and you’re not going back. Spread a few rumors about who F.P.’s been working with,” Alice said. “Maybe pick up a night shift at Pop’s.”

Her focus was on the caked on grease that defiled her pristine life, but Gladys knew the gears were turning in her head. Alice always was the schemer, the planner. She’d had her entire life planned out when reality sunk in that the Smiths weren’t in the same zip code as the Cleavers, let alone the same country. If one wanted a plan, one that wasn’t necessarily foolproof, but smart enough to fool ninety percent of the population, Alice Smith was that person.

There was one small hitch, though.

“Where am I going to stay in the meantime? The trailer park’s out, and couch surfing with a two-year old tends to get old real quick. Especially since most of my friends are more likely to have needles lying around than milk.”

Alice waved off her concerns. “Hal’s going on some retreat, Find Your Inner Masculine Self, or some other insecure ego trip for the next month, so the basement will be free,” Alice said. She let the water drain out of the sink and picked up two cups of tea. One she sat in front of Gladys; the other she took with her as she sat down at the island. “And I could always use some help with the girls.”

It was tempting. A stable roof over their head and three squares a day. More than F.P. ever provided them.

“What’s the catch?”

Alice shook her head, a coy smile on her face. “No catch. Only …”

Gladys raised an eyebrow. She set the steak down on the styrofoam container. “Only?”

“You let me help make F.P. disappear.”

“There a history there I should know about?”

Alice blew on her tea and took a small sip. Her eyes closed as she savored the flavor. Gladys’ question hung in the air, unanswered.

xxxx

Dead tired, feet aching, Gladys punched out from her ten hour shift at Pop’s. It hadn’t been terrible, pretending as if F.P. didn’t exist. She’d been acting as a single mother for the last year and it was easier when she didn’t have to pick up after him as well.

It was actually quite nice. Or at least, playing house with Alice was. While they’d both respected each others boundaries, there were plenty of times Gladys wanted to break them, and Alice didn’t make it easy. Whether it was a rekindling of old flames, or whether it was Gladys’ own complex about people who treated her kindly, it didn’t matter in the end. Alice was married (ten carrot ring, rose gold, priceless and worthless depending on who you asked), and disgustingly happy about it, and Gladys refused to take that from her. 

She bid Pop’s a good night and stepped out into the humid night air. Right on time, Alice pulled up to the diner in her eyesore of a wood paneled station wagon (not even worth casing, it was so ugly). Gladys sunk into the faux leather seats and let her eyes shut, the smell of grease and burnt coffee staying with her even after they’d crossed the railroad tracks. Tonight, though, Alice took a left instead of a right.

Gladys cracked an eye open and watched the quaint brick work turn into tall, dark pines. She turned to Alice whose expression never wavered. 

“Al?”

“Do you still want to go through with this?”

Gladys sat up in her chair and stared at Alice. She didn’t need to ask what she meant. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“Alright then.”

Alice pulled off the road just outside of Greendale, the road lit by the light of a hole-in-the-wall bar. Rows of motorcycles lined the parking lot. The drunks had spilled out of the double wide building and were lounging around the porch, loud enough to wake the dead. While they waited for the party to die down, Gladys wondered how much time Alice had spent tracking his movements, how much energy she’d expended on this side project of hers.

Country rock whispered around them, punctuated with the hoots and hollers of men all too eager to spend their meager paychecks on booze and women. 

“Why do you care so much?” Gladys asked. She didn’t expect an answer.

“About him? Or you?”

Gladys chuckled. Of course Alice would see right through her. She always had been able to.

“Both. Neither. It’s not like we parted on good terms. And I didn’t exactly keep up with the Christmas cards.”

Alice pursed her lips, her gaze still laser focused on the horde of people, escaping their own problems. These were the people they’d been raised with. In other parts of the country they’d be white-trash, rednecks; here they were blue-collar workers who’d been left behind as corporations moved overseas at the behest of ever growing profits. They’d been left to fend for themselves among the corpses of dying towns, unwilling to leave behind the lives their father’s had left them.

“There he is,” Alice said. 

She shifted the car into gear and let it idle as F.P. swayed down the ramp and greeted everyone he passed. Gladys always said he’d be good in politics, if he wasn’t so easily swayed by a shot and an easy fix. Five minutes later and he was at his bike. It took him three tries to start it up, and she knew he was at least ten beers in. He roared out of the parking lot and the station wagon quietly followed behind.

“Now what?” Gladys asked as the darkness enveloped them again. 

Alice was quiet, focused on her prey. The dashboard light illuminated the cab, casting eerie blue shadows around them. 

“All right, surprise party it is,” Gladys said. 

Bored, she put her shoes up on the dash. Alice swatted them down. 

“I just had it detailed.” 

Alice took a sharp breath in as the motorcycle came to a slow stop off the road. The station wagon passed it, and Gladys turned to watch as F.P. staggered to his feet. They turned right onto an off road, and Alice pulled over to the side. Calmly, she turned the engine off and stepped out of the vehicle.

The gravel crunched beneath Gladys’ plain white sneakers, loaned to her from Alice’s full closet, as she followed Alice around the car to the trunk. Gladys let out a low whistle at the sight. Everything from a crowbar to a battery operated jump starter to an emergency blizzard kit. Hal Cooper made sure to take care of his wife’s every on-road need. 

Alice reached in, her grey cardigan riding up as she reached for the shovel tucked neatly in the back. Gladys took it from her and watched as Alice surveyed her options. After a moment, she picked up a tarp and an axe, the sharp edge gleaming in the brake lights. It lay naturally in Alice’s hands, another well worn tool in her arsenal of getting what she wanted out of life.

In the red brake lights, Alice looked like a macabre angel of vengeance. Grey cardigan, black cigarette pants, pearl drop earrings. She was dressed for a potluck.

It was that moment that Alice’s plan revealed itself, and Gladys couldn’t help but chuckle at its perfection.

Alice Cooper, helicopter mother of the year, had selflessly takin in a childhood friend after she’d been battered. Caring, kind Alice, who spent two Sundays a month volunteering at the homeless shelter, trying to get her friend back on her feet. Vicious enforcer of her HOA and PTA rules, Alice would turn in her own mother-in-law for rolling through a stop-sign, had picked up Gladys from work and driven off, presumably to take her back to the picture perfect lifestyle on Elm Street.

How on earth could anyone imagine that she’d let a dangerous person near her family, let alone aid and abet in a murder?

With a smirk reminiscent of the old Alice, the one Gladys would eagerly kill for, they stepped into the woods where F.P. was last seen.

“Let’s go kill your boyfriend.”


	2. Old Times

Gladys hadn’t been back in town for a month before Alice showed up on her front porch at four in the morning, tears streaking down her cheeks ( _makeup looking just as good as when she’d applied it that morning; gotta love a woman who can afford Avon_ ).A wide-eyed teenager, the spiting image of a younger, more precocious Alice, tagged along behind her.Without hesitation Gladys ground her cigarette out on the arm of the rocker ( _saved from Mr. O’Neil’s Tuesday trash pile_ ) and pulled them both inside.

Without a word spoken, Gladys went to change the sheets in her bedroom.Alice and the girl spoke softly in the kitchen, and try as she might, Gladys couldn’t make out a single word.Whatever it was, it had been bad enough to bring Alice here and not one of her fancy, high-society friends’ houses ( _probably put out jello molds and finger sandwiches and food that tasted like creamed dirt_ ).Something big enough to ruin the entire Cooper household.

The pillowcase hung from the bottom of the pillow, wrapped around its middle in a suffocating grip, as she realized Hal hadn’t been with them.In fact, she hadn’t seen Hal and Alice in the same place since she’d moved back to town ( _long-since overstayed, parents basement too crowded with two bickering teens and three shifts at the grocery store, g.e.d. just out of reach)_.She’d exchanged enough nods with Hal in the frozen dinner aisle, both pretending the space between them wasn’t mired in ancient history and still raw rivalry.Her path with Alice was limited to the high school drop-off lane, the one public gesture of maternal affection Jughead still allowed

Now, though.She sighed.It wasn’t uncommon for the women around here to lean on one another for comfort and safety.Sad, really, how often that came on the heels of the men not living up to even the lowest standards.After a second thought, she fluffed up pillows and headed back towards the kitchen.Coming towards her in the claustrophobic hallway came Alice and her child ( _Betty, she realized with a flash of deja vu, a reminder of when she and Jughead were the ones on the other end of this_ ), and Gladys flattened herself against the wall.

“Thanks, Ms. Jones,” Betty murmured, her eyes downcast.

Gladys hadn’t the heart to tell her she hadn’t been a Jones for almost fifteen years. 

“Not a problem at all, darlin’.What do you think about strawberry pancakes in the morning?”

Betty gave her a watery smile and Alice shooed her into the bedroom.The door closed behind them, and Gladys let out a heavy breath.There was always something going wrong around here.You expected it, but it still hurt to see it happen.

Filled with a nervous energy ( _live wired and on fire, as her daddy used to say before the tar and the coal got to him; put a cork in that and you could power the whole nothern half of the states)_ , Gladys flitted around the house, straightening and tucking and dusting, nothing seeming to be enough anymore.She had another two hours before she had to be at her first shift at the factory down the road.Then again, maybe she’d return that long ago favor and call in sick.After all, she was entitled to a few days here and there ( _nothing like the dump in toledo where they squeezed every drop of your soul, pennies on the dollar, and still demanded more_ ).

Just as she was running a cloth over the television set ( _only three channels, black and white; older than either of her children who preferred leeching ole’ henry’s wifi instead of -)_ , the bedroom door shut quietly.Gladys straightened and waited for Alice to appear.When their eyes met, Alice’s stoic, no-nonsense rock solid mask crumbled into a mess of tears and grief.

“He’s -“

Poor gal couldn’t even speak properly anymore.Whatever Hal’d done, it was enough to knock the sense out of Alice, and that was a scary enough prospect on its own.She hadn’t been that thrown for a loop since they’d raided ( _stole_ ) Mantle’s stash of E _(curled up like kittens, high in the dusty sunlight on the trailer floor, alice laying out her future with hal and not her…)._

Gladys quieted her and lead Alice to the loveseat ( _third-hand from earl and katie, bless their hearts even though it did smell like that damn cat)_.Alice tried to apologize for the interruption, but Gladys refused to let her.Jughead she didn’t have to worry about - boy slept like a brick in a tornado - and J.B. was at a sleepover with some of her friends ( _best friends on the first day of school, always did get her daddy’s better traits, while jug soured down into his old records and writing, lost in his own world_ , _too much like his mama to make anything of it_ ).

Once Alice was settled, Gladys poured out a shot of rum and set it on the coffee table along with a box of tissues.A few steps back, and Gladys was in the kitchen to give Alice a modicum of peace in the tiny trailer.She poured a glass of water and set it next to the empty shot glass.

“Another one?I have whiskey, too.”

Alice shook her head, a crumbled tissue in her hand halfway shredded to hell and back already.On the table lay three more ( _three bucks a pop here, can you believe)_ and Gladys couldn’t help but want that to be the remnants of Hal’s body. 

“Hal, he -“ Alice’s words were cut off with a gut wrenching sob, and Gladys rushed to her.

Like she did when the kids woke up from their nightmares, she murmured platitudes and soft words, her arms wrapped around Alice in a cocoon of safety.After a good long cry ( _glad she still wore waterproof, cheap, drugstore mascara would have ruined the fabric, though the concealer would do hell on the blouse_ ), Alice steadied herself.

Despite her hair falling out of its unnatural wave, despite the botchy cheeks, red eyes, and snotty nose, Gladys was still struck by how well Alice carried herself.Likely an armor built up having to suppress anger and frustration in this ticky-tacky town ( _hoa’s, pta’s, cya’s)_.A rose of anger bloomed on her cheeks sent Gladys rocking back on her heels, a thrum of excitement rushing through her.

“I suppose you’ve heard about our town’s little _problem_ ,” Alice said, still speaking in polite euphemisms and innuendos.She reached for the glass of water and primly cleared her throat ( _cats and spots, zebras and strips, snakes and scales; once, always_ ).

“Depends on which one you mean,” Gladys said. 

She was being sarcastic, she knew, but it was the truth.Riverdale hadn’t changed much from when they were growing up, damn whatever bullshit Hiram and his developers were trying to sell.It still had the same pristine front, picture perfect suburban life style, full of well respected men trying to save the village green from its own preservation society, but now the fetid foundation it had been built upon was bubbling out from the seams.The drugs, gangs, and murders were more visible now, no longer brushed under the railroad tracks into the Southside of town.

Hell, the only _new_ thing about it seemed to be the mafia trying to gain a foothold.And Gladys had her own plans on how to deal with _that_.

Mostly, though, she’d missed being able to push Alice’s buttons ( _eyes narrowed, tongue beneath her teeth, a flash of heat in a pan_ ), to get a rise from her so she was the center of her focus.If nothing else, it drew Alice’s attention away from her grief at hand. 

“But, if you’re talking about that black hood idiot,” Gladys drawled, wincing at the pins and needles attacking her as she stood, “then I’ve heard a bit.”

“Yes, well.”Alice cleared her throat and looked away.“It turns out you were right.About Hal.”

“Oh?”

Gladys let it hang in the air.It wasn’t often that Alice Cooper, nee Smith, admitted to being wrong about anything, especially when it came to her life choices.And yet the juxtaposition of the two - the Black Hood and Hal - had caught her attention like a hook in a trout’s belly.

“About -?”

“About Hal,” Alice snapped.

She stood to pace the thin carpet of the trailer, her hands wrapped tight around her arms, the pastel green cardigan wrinkling under her fingers. 

“He’s been going around these past few months like a god damned fool, playing at being an avenging angel, murdering people who he thought deserved it.I can’t _believe_ I bought his lie about going _bowling_. The man can’t even lift a lawnmower, let alone a _bowling ball_.”

Gladys sat down on the love seat, one leg thrown onto the coffee table and watched Alice stew in front of her.It was a mirror image of fifteen years ago, almost to the day.She gently touched the corner of her eye, still bearing a white scar, and cursed the day she’d ever met that man.

“And then _the bastard_ has the _audacity_ to say that our _children_ need to be purified.That _I_ need to be purified.It was bad enough that he sent that letter to Polly, what he did to Betty -“

Alice stopped and tugged at her hair ( _bottle blonde to cover up the slow, steady march of time; at least a week’s worth of gladys’ pay for vanity every month)_.Gladys stood and guided Alice back to the love seat.

“How about you start from the beginning?”

Another stream of tears, this time borne of frustration and anger, slipped down Alice’s cheeks as she dove head first into the long tale.Hal always had thought himself above the rest of the town ( _secret son, hidden away from the world)_ even though his own sins bore bitter fruit of their own ( _alice angry and self-destructive in senior year; drunk on the floor; od’ed in the bathroom; blood running down wrists)_. Somehow he’d managed to fuel that into something more productive - a picture perfect nuclear family and modest but plentiful business - until he finally didn’t. 

The first murder attempt, then the second, third, and fourth followed, no longer attempts.Quit murders in the surrounding counties that went with only a few murmurs of disapproval.Even his own family hadn’t been immune; daughters, tortured and deceived by the man meant to protect them from such things ( _kids of all things; for crissakes was nothing sacred?_.

And Alice…

When she was done with her macabre tale, ending in Hal’s entrapment of his family and their violent escape, Gladys let out a low whistle.

“Well.Shit.”

Alice let out a wet, wry laugh.She curled her legs up under her and hugged a throw pillow tight ( _bought on a whim at a yard sale - two’fer deal she’d haggled; matched the lace curtains jb couldn’t help but make fun of)._ Gladys stood and walked towards where her father’s urn sat on the mantle, a place of honor in a family who had little to do with ghosts of the past.

“What do you want to do about it?” Gladys asked. 

Standing on her tiptoes, she reached in an pulled out a rusted Altoids tin and a lighter.When Alice caught sight of it she let out a real laugh this time, one that drew memories of simpler, happier times when it had just been the two of them against the world.Wonder Woman and Sarah Conner, united together.Until they grew up and out of middle school dreams and into the real world where bills piled up and mouths had to be fed. 

“You know we’re not in high school, right?”

Gladys grinned and fell onto the love seat next to her.She popped open the tin and held it out to Alice.

“Do you want to do the honors?You always were better at it than I ever was.”

Alice chewed her lip, the implications and scandal of what Gladys was proposing flashed across her eyes.It was easy enough to guess the arguments against it, the same old ones she’d heard before ( _what if your mom/daughter/sister finds out you keep_ that _in_ there? _she’ll be more pissed that she didn’t find it sooner_ ), but her hand was steady when she took the tin. Gladys watched her fingers work, long thin fingers still trapped by a band of gold.The ring of a promise that fell flat and brought with it a hell of a right-hook in the end.

As she watched, Gladys let her mind wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t allowed themselves to be torn apart in high school.If she’d only beaten the truth out of Hal in junior year when Alice vanished.If only, if only, if only.

“What I want,” Alice said with a finality, the lid snapping shut a punctuation to her decision, “is to rip his guts out and feed them to him while that harpy mother of his watches.”

Gladys flicked the lighter, the flame dancing around the end of the joint.Her eyes didn’t move from Alice’s lips as she took a hit.Lines ebbed and faded, reminders of their time spent apart, waves of years and youth wasted.In the poor ventilation of the trailer, the smoke wrapped them in a thin cocoon of safety, a gauzy curtain to shield them against the reality of their choices.

“Might have to lay a tarp down, but I know a few guys.”

The phrase sent Alice into a fit of giggles ( _ask freddie and fp, they know some guys)_ and Gladys shushed her with a crooked smile, reminding her that Betty lay sleeping not forty feet away.Alice took another took and blew the smoke into Gladys’ face, a ribbon that caressed and teased her skin

“Or we could take care of it ourselves.”

“Just like old times?”

“Just like old times.”

(A few months later found Jughead and Betty at Pop’s working on a school project under Gladys’ critical eye.Jughead, used to his mother’s hovering nature, enjoyed the free fries she dropped off between customers; Betty, it seemed, was far more perturbed by the woman’s sudden closeness with her mother.It wasn’t until they were writing about Lady McBeth(‘ _out damn spot’ seemed to Jughead less of a guilt ridden complex after this Black Hood business and more of an attempt at an evidentiary coverup)_ that he spoke on a subject that had been bothering him for a few weeks.

“Doesn’t it seem odd?”

Betty hummed and continued to write.“What seems odd?”

“My father disappears three months before my mother leaves town, never to be seen again.We come back, and three months later your dad disappears.And each time, our mothers renewed their friendship just weeks before.”

Any goodwill Betty might have held towards Jughead froze quickly at the implications in his words.Her fingers gripped the mechanical pencil hard enough her knuckles went white and the plastic cracked. 

“My father was a serial killer,” she snapped.Blooms of anger rose on her checks and Jughead shifted under her glare.“It’s not surprising that he’d run away after trying to kill his wife and his daughter in their _own home_.”

Cowed, Jughead picked at the lukewarm fries.Her words didn’t change his mind, didn’t move his suspicions a single degree, but it did quiet his need to pry further into her opinion.

The matter was dropped as Macbeth and his realm descended further into madness.)


End file.
